


Finding Solace In A Bottle Of Bourbon

by bagelexpress



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, I'm new here, M/M, Post-Break Up, Probable OOC-ness, be gentle w me, just because i dont know everything yet, slightly AU, thats the ship name as far as i'm concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagelexpress/pseuds/bagelexpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then Jesse McCree was immobilised with affection.</p><p>Six weeks, and he still couldn't get Hanzo out of his head. They hadn't even spoken to each other in just as long. But through the drunken haze of Angela's so-called intervention, there was only one number going through Jesse's mind. There was only one person he wanted to end this night with.<br/>“Hanzo,” he breathed. “I need you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is all likesittinspoons fault. She got me into this game the morning that this chapter was written. It's good and I love it and you but this is all your fault.  
> Secondly, because I'm new to the game, I don't know the characters all that well so they might not be 100% accurate.  
> Any feedback is greatly appreciated!  
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Edit: for extra suffering, listen to I Miss My Friend by Darryl Worley during or after this chapter. Happy crying!

It was true that Jesse McCree didn’t always have the best judgement. Or the best taste. Or the most tact, for that matter. But he was sure that this time, he’d be able to hold his tongue. And his liquor.    
Of course, if the number primed for dialling on his phone was any indication, he was having a hard time with at least one of those things. The acid bile in his throat might have been a warning against the second, but it was probably a factor of both. Hanzo had made it  _ very  _ clear that he didn’t want Jesse around the last time they spoke. Which had been about… a month ago? The facts were a little warped, what with Angela’s idea of an intervention. Maybe it was a month and a half…    
However long ago it had been, to Jesse, it definitely felt like longer. He sighed into his glass, already resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t call. If he hadn’t by this point, then he’d never work up the courage.

Hanzo had moved out right after he’d told Jesse, in no uncertain terms, that they had no future. He hadn’t gone far; just across the base, back to his old room beside his brother’s. Somehow, that made it all the worse. The slight glimpses Jesse had caught of his now strictly-teammate were heartbreaking, especially when Hanzo looked back. They way he looked at Jesse now… he couldn’t handle the lack of warmth in eyes that had previously held nothing but. These brushes with each other, brief as they were, only served to remind Jesse of what he’d had, and what he’d lost.

At least such encounters were few and far between. Hanzo had recently taken to accepting the longer missions, the ones which kept him far afield from his teammates, his friends, and his now ex-lover. And Jesse had been… well, moping in his now one-man room at the base, only leaving for team missions (sans Hanzo) and, occasionally, meals. 

And perhaps the worst thing was, he didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. There had to have been  _ something _ , one final straw that had made Hanzo realise what he’d gotten himself into. Jesse had begged him to let him fix it, to work on whatever flaw Hanzo had found, but second chances didn’t seem to be his forte. And, for the life of him, Jesse couldn’t see what he’d done any differently. It wasn't exactly like he could ask. Even after they'd been apart for so long, Jesse still didn't feel comfortable around Hanzo, especially if it was Jesse’s fault they were no longer together. 

But if absence makes the heart grow fonder, then Jesse was practically immobilised with affection. 

 

A hand on his back brought him out of his downward spiral for a moment. Angela slid into the booth beside him, breathless from dancing. 

“What are you doing moping alone over here?” she asked, not unkindly. “This is meant to be  _ your _ ‘cheer up’ party.”

Jesse glanced around the dimly lit club, and the swarm of writhing bodies on the dancefloor. He could just make out Ana watching protectively as Fareeha danced, like some sort of overprotective mother hen. Jesse ignored the concerned looks Fareeha was not-so-subtly casting in the direction of their booth. 

He shook his head. “I’m just not in the dancin’ mood.”

Angela pursed her lips in worry. She shuffled closer on the sticky chair, moving Jesse’s hat (why he insisted on wearing it she had no idea) so she could lean on the equally sticky table.

“Hey…” she said gently, placing her hand on his arm. “I know this has been hard for you. But, it’s been six weeks. You've beaten yourself up enough. And, maybe, if you can start having fun by yourself, then maybe you can start thinking about having fun with someone else.”

Jesse stared into the dregs of his drink, unable to meet her gaze. Angela patted his arm one last time before pulling herself up out of the booth.

“Now come on,” she asserted, holding out her hand to him. “I know this song’s no Tim McGraw, but at least it’s got a beat.”

That got a small chuckle out of Jesse. The light teasing of his friends was always something to count on. At least he knew that  _ they _ cared. 

Jesse took her hand, allowing himself to be pulled onto the dancefloor. His other hand slipped his phone into his pocket, a certain number still emblazoned guiltily across the screen, before moving to retrieve his hat from the table. 

 

Angela’s enthusiasm and the alcohol coursing through his system prompted Jesse to move a little to the beat. Fareeha came over once she’d noticed he was up and moving, and the three of them moved some-what in time with the music. They might have been good fighters, but their moves could use some work. They made up for it with the abandon with which they danced. Even Ana bobbed slightly on the sidelines, content with the fact that the three were together, and therefore protected from any predatory advances. 

Despite himself, Jesse felt himself starting to have a good time. The song was loud and completely inane, very different from the soppy love songs Jesse definitely hadn't taken to playing in his room. They were in a new place, with new people, with absolutely nothing to remind him of he-whose-name-Angela-had-banned-for-the-night. 

Jesse was laughing and dancing with a freedom he hadn't had for a long time now, and he could  _ feel _ himself beginning to let go. 

And then it hit him.

 

As he glanced up into Angela’s laughing face, his gaze slipped right past her and landed on two people dancing very, very closely together just over her left shoulder. The tenderness and closeness with which they danced gave him pause, and when they started to pull even further into each other, it was all Jesse could do to keep his feet beneath him. His stomach lurched and that acid bile came creeping back up his throat. 

He tried to look away, switching his gaze to Fareeha and trying to stay locked on to her face. And yet, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering away and across the dancefloor. Everywhere he looked, couples dancing together, holding each other and enjoying each other's presence. As much as he spun, he couldn't get rid of the sights. They were everywhere, suffocating him, and eventually, even the brim of his hat couldn't hide the sight tattooed across his eyelids. 

Jesse couldn't take it, the battering of his senses that had been brought on by these visions. He pushed through the crowd even as a wave of sensations engulfed him. The smell of Hanzo’s skin after a bout of training, the softness of his hair after a shower, and the way his eyes sparkled as they lay together late at night in the quiet of their room, cut off from the world until there was only  _ their  _ world. 

Jesse pushed against all the bodies in his path, searching half-blind for the exit, struggling under the weight of his grief. He pushed and shoved until his hands hit metal, and then he was out under the darkened sky, gulping in the brisk night air. 

But he didn't stop there. He stumbled against the wall, numbly registering the scrape against his knuckles, moving down to the mouth of an alley. Jesse’s knee hit a metal bin, and flopped over it, legs refusing to keep him upright. 

His stomach emptied itself onto the grimy floor by way of his mouth, even as his hand fumbled at his side for the flap in his trousers. 

By the time Jesse’s stomach has stopped rolling, and he'd managed to haul himself up and back over the bin, he'd managed to navigate the fabric and drag his phone free of his pocket. He slumped to the ground, using the wall to keep his balance and not keel over. 

He didn't hesitate. He slammed the green button and managed to bring the phone to his ear to hear the ringing cease. 

“Hanzo,” he breathed. “I need you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell you guys! It's been five years since I've posted a fic and to come back to a response like this is absolutely incredible. Thank you for your kudos' and lovely comments!  
> Alright, hopefully this chapter will answer some of your questions and maybe make some of you not want to strangle Hanzo quite so much  
> 

_ ‘This is stupid,’ _ thought Hanzo as he shrugged on a coat. 

_ ‘I shouldn't do this,’  _ he thought as he climbed into his car. 

_ ‘This is a terrible idea,’  _ he concluded as he sped into the city. 

He might have been right. He probably was. But there was never any doubt in anyone's mind that Hanzo Shimada would drop anything and everything he was doing for Jesse McCree. He still had a huge soft spot for the cowboy, which honestly felt more like a bruise at the moment. 

Even if he  _ had _ wanted to ignore Jesse’s call, there was something in his voice, something so raw that Hanzo’s brain refused to focus on anything else until it knew Jesse was safe. Which, if he stayed with Hanzo, he never would be. 

Obviously casualties were expected in their shared line of work, and Jesse would never really be  _ safe _ . But at least he was somewhat emotionally protected against the inevitable. 

The fact of the matter was, one day Hanzo would get hurt. One day he'd get sloppy, or drop his guard, or just be plain unlucky, and an enemy would get one over on him. It might not be fatal; but with the level of the missions Overwatch were taking on, it was more likely than not. Either way, when it  _ did _ happen (and it would), Jesse would be torn apart. Hanzo knew this because he knew how much  _ he  _ would hurt if anything happened to Jesse. Even seeing the cowboy slightly beat up after a mission got his blood boiling and his heart sinking. 

All he wanted to do was reduce the amount of hurt Jesse would inevitably feel. If Hanzo could restrict their relationship to just friends, or strictly colleagues, then the blow would be a whole lot softer than if they'd carried on as they were. It was a form of protection, in a way. Sure, it might hurt them both now. It had been eating away at Hanzo since he’d even started thinking about breaking them up. But he knew that it would stop so much pain in the future. 

He told himself that he was protecting himself as well. If anything happened to Jesse, Hanzo would… well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. But it would be bad, for everyone involved.

Of course, this was hypothetical. Hanzo knew his time would come way before the cowboy even started to go grey. Jesse was too good, too smart. He was reckless, occasionally sacrificing himself for the attack, but the results were always the same; complete annihilation of the enemy team. 

Hanzo had cared less for his own well being after the death ( _ ‘the murder,’ _ he keeps reminding himself, ‘ _ the murder  _ you _ committed,’ _ ) of his brother and the dissolution of the clan. Until he'd found Overwatch, his training and his preparations had been for nothing. Until he found Jesse, he'd had nothing to fight for. 

 

And that was why he found himself driving blindly through the ark city streets at 3am. Jesse hadn’t exactly drawn him a map to where he was, but Hanzo  _ was  _ a Shimada. He could figure it out.    
Jesse was drunk, that much was obvious. If the slurred message he’d left wasn’t enough, the fact that he’d even left a message showed he wasn’t of sound mind. It’d be different if Jesse had tried to reconnect before this point, but so much time had passed, and there’d been absolutely nothing from his end. Admittedly, Hanzo hadn’t initiated anything either. He figured it’d be inappropriate, seeing as it was his idea to end it. He had, however, allowed himself a few lingering moments in the corridors of the base, hovering for a few seconds whenever he caught sight of that downright  _ absurd _ hat that Jesse insisted on sporting.    
Seeing him so close, but knowing he’d never be able to touch him again, to hold him close. Hanzo felt numb just looking at the face he knew so well. He had to tear his eyes away when he thought Jesse noticed him. He felt guilty enough already, he didn’t need to see how much McCree hated him now. 

 

The high rises of the central city disappeared as Hanzo turned into the outskirts, onto smaller streets notorious for the seedy clubs that lined them. Jesse would have been out with Angela. She was smart, Hanzo knew, and she wouldn’t take him to places that would remind him of their time together if she was trying to take his mind off it. 

That was one of the reasons Hanzo had started taking every long-term mission he could. That, and to try and escape from the constant reminder of what he’d done. He refused to let those feelings resurface, especially now that they had no place in his life. Of course, emotions are very seldom tied down by the wills of man. The distance just reminded him that there was no one waiting for him when he got back.

 

Hanzo had it on good authority that none of the Overwatch team had spent any great amount of time in this area, his primary source being that he was one of them. It seemed as good a place as any to start looking. As he slowed the car down to cruise along the bar fronts in search of Jesse, his mind wandered unbidden across the events of the last month and a half. 

Jesse had taken the news without contest. Which, now that Hanzo thought about it, was very strange. He’d be the first to admit that Jesse was stubborn and hardheaded. He never even took a tactical suggestion without unleashing a barrage of questions and making sure there was no better way to accomplish the task. 

For him to just… let this go. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t  _ Jesse _ . 

Maybe it meant he didn’t care. Maybe he’d been pretending that Hanzo meant something, just going through the motions because that’s what Jesse thought Hanzo wanted him to do. 

Now that was a painful thought. 

It didn’t matter much now though. They’d had a good time together, fake or not, and now it was time to move on. Jesse was free to pursue anything and anyone he wanted. He could have a proper future now. 

 

The streets were dimly lit by the few streetlights that weren’t broken, so Hanzo had to lean close to the window to see anything. Since Jesse had called him, it made sense that he’d be outside waiting. Or so Hanzo hoped, anyway. If not, he wasn’t entirely sure how to begin looking. He didn’t exactly want to traipse through every building in search of Jesse. But if that was what it took…

Luckily for Hanzo, it didn’t have to come to that. By the weak light of a veteran streetlamp, he managed to catch sight of that infamous brown hat resting by the open mouth of an alley between two of the clubs. Hanzo pulled to a stop outside the closest club. He cut the engine, filled with apprehension, and a tiny bit of relief that he quickly tried to squash beneath a business exterior. 

He took a deep breath, and opened the car door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying this so far, I hope I can continue to deliver. I have the terrible feeling that Hanzo's characterisation is going to absolutely kick my ass next chapter (because he'll actually have to speak oops) so fingers crossed I get it right. I'm going to do my research and dive in headfirst.  
> I just want to point out that is slightly AU just because of the things that I don't know about the canon universe yet, so if something isn't quite right, then that's part of the AU bit haha  
> Feel free to tell me if I've got anything wrong, it'll help me out so much for next time!  
> If you've got this far, I love you


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I already uploaded this chapter, but as I said when I uploaded, there are two versions of the ending of this fic. I thought it was best to upload the previous version, but since it's been up, I haven't been happy with it and kinda want to give the other version a go. So that's what this is, round two of chapter 3. Chapter 3.5?? I don't know.  
> But anyway, hope you enjoy it and aren't too mad at me for switching it up.

Jesse didn't know how long he’d been sat slumped against the slimy alley wall. Everything had gone kinda blurry after he hung up the phone, and he was pretty sure not all of it was from the tears in his eyes. All he knew was that he was cold, and alone, and very drunk. 

He was dimly aware of a shadow falling over him, blocking out the weak light from the single streetlight. There was firm grip on his forearms, and before he knew it, he was being lifted to his feet. 

“What’re you doing all sprawled out on the floor like that?” asked an unfamiliar voice. “Someone might get the wrong idea…”

Jesse blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. He opened his mouth to object, but whatever he meant to say ended up sounding like, “Hah-i-bur-if-wha…”

“I can't quite find the words myself,” Jesse could hear the leer in the stranger’s voice. “But I was hoping our actions could speak for us.”

The stranger’s hands slid further up Jesse’s arms, and he felt the warm flush of another body drawing near. 

 

“Step away from the inebriated man.”

His voice was cold and harsh, and Jesse felt a numbness beginning to spread through him at the sound of it.

The grip on his arms relaxed as the stranger moved away. “I didn't realise he was spoken for.”

“Leave.” came the voice of steel and granite.

 

His hands now freed from the stranger's grasp, Jesse wiped his eyes dry on his sleeve. He took longer than he had to, terrified of what he'd see when he was done. The light refocused itself, returning to its place atop the metal pole of the streetlamp. 

Jesse had been burning with the unbelievable urge to see Hanzo again for weeks now. But now that he was finally here, Jesse wasn't sure what to say. 

Hanzo stood bathed in dirty light, somehow still managing to look like he was sent by some god to deliver words of wisdom to the humble mortal he appeared before. 

Jesse, on the other hand, had absolutely no words to impart, wise or not. His poor, confused brain had slowed to a stop, but one thought was running rampantly through it; Hanzo was  _ here. _

“You're drunk.” The note of disgust in Hanzo’s voice was like a dagger in Jesse’s heart. 

“You're here.” he heard himself whisper back.

Hanzo levelled him with a look. “You called me. 

Jesse grimaced. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

 

“Jesse!”

He turned involuntarily at the sound of his name. Angela was stalking towards him from the door at the back of the alley. 

“God we've been looking all over for you,” she stopped short as she took in the scene. “What is  _ he  _ doing here?”

Hanzo met her glare with the same detached expression he'd worn all night.

“McCree called me.” 

Angela’s gaze switched to the man cowering between them. 

“You called him?” she asked softly. 

Jesse lowered his eyes, feeling like he’d disappointed her. He nodded at the ground, his mouth suddenly very dry.

To his surprise, Angela didn’t yell at him. She kept her eyes fixed on Hanzo, as though he was a dangerous predator who might attack at any moment. 

“Look, Jesse,” She said slowly. “Why don’t you come back inside with Fareeha and me?”

Jesse floundered slightly, reluctant to return to the hotbed of happy couples, but still hesitant to be left alone with Hanzo. He didn’t have time to answer, however, as Hanzo piped up behind him. 

“With all due respect Angela,” he began in that toneless voice. “Jesse is very drunk. I assumed he called me to take him home and I did not drive out here at 3am for nothing.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t,” Angela muttered, crossing her arms in defiance. She turned back to Jesse in concern. “It’s your choice Jess.”

Jesse sighed. “Honestly Ang, I just want to go home. Thank you for tonight, though.”

Angela nodded. “If you’re sure.” Somehow, Jesse knew she wasn’t just talking about his intended location.

As Jesse turned to head out of the alley, Angela fixed Hanzo with a look that said ‘I’ve got my eye on you’. Hanzo nodded in understanding, glad that Jesse had someone looking out for him, but maybe wishing that he wasn’t on her bad side. It was his own fault though, he concluded. 

Angela watched them go before heading back in the club shouting for Ana so they could plot how to murder Hanzo if  _ anything _ happened.

 

Jesse sat rigidly in the front seat, not sure what to do. He jumped when Hanzo’s door slammed shut. The engine started up, a low rumble in the uncomfortable silence of the car. 

“Belt.” Hanzo reminded. Jesse fumbled with the latch a few times before it clicked into place. Only then did Hanzo pull away from the curb and out into the night. 

Most of the ride transpired in silence, with Jesse too scrambled to say anything. Hanzo didn't offer any relief. As focused as he was on squishing down those feelings of his own, he didn't notice Jesse’s discomfort. 

As they pulled out of the district and across the city, Jesse’s mind was working overtime. Now that Hanzo was sat beside him, Jesse found it impossible to focus on anything else. And the more he thought about it, the angrier it made him. This bubbled up inside him all the way around the city until, just as they were about to pull out onto the long road to the base, the pressure became the too much and Jesse effectively exploded. 

 

“What did I do?” he said loudly, keeping his eyes on the road before them. 

Hanzo froze beside him, the question both startling and terrifying him. 

“...what?” he asked when he's found his voice again. 

Jesse was glaring a hole in the windscreen, lips pressed into a thin white line. A few drops of rain began to spatter across the glass, and he watched them join up and trickle down into thick rivulets.

“What did I do?” he repeated. “Come on, you can say it.”

Hanzo frowned in confusion. “What did you do when?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Jesse bit out. “You know  _ exactly _ when.”

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Apparently this was the final straw for Jesse.

He twisted in his seat to glare at Hanzo. “When you got sick of me!”

Hanzo stared at him in open-mouthed shock for a moment, before he remembered he was driving.

“What?” he asked incredulously, glancing between Jesse and the road. “You think  _ that’s _ why I ended it?”

“What else!” Jesse threw his arms out for emphasis. “The least you can do is tell me what it was about me that was so awful.”

Hanzo shook his head in disbelief. “Jesse, I can’t believe you’d even think that!”

“Believe me, it’s not hard.” Jesse fell back against the seat. “You didn’t exactly make it a secret how you felt about me.”

The rain was coming down hard now, drops like bullets hitting the windscreen.

“Jesse…” he said, suddenly exhausted. “You’ve got this all wrong. I...I  _ never  _ got sick of you.”

“Yeah?” Jesse echoed his tone, anger evaporating, and in it’s place, the deep seated heartache he’d been less than willing to show in it’s entirety.

“Of course not!” Hanzo’s chest heaved with the effort of keeping himself together. Their eyes locked over the centre console. “Jesse, I… I lo-”

“Look out!”

The cars tyres screeched on the wet asphalt as Hanzo tried to regain control. But there's only so much driving you can do in a car that's wrapped around a tree.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, this is finally the end. The actual end this time as well. I will not be touching this fic with a ten foot pole. It is complete.

“...Jesse?” Hanzo’s vision swam when he tried to open his eyes. He groaned, reaching up to touch his head. It was tender, but still intact, which was a good sign.

“Jesse?” he called again, louder this time.

He waited a moment before opening his eyes again. The dizziness had subsided somewhat, and Hanzo took in the dark interior of the car.

The first thing he saw, was the shards of glass littering the front of his shirt and the too-low dashboard. Then, he saw his own legs disappearing beneath a twisted pile of industrial plastic, the pressing weight of which slowly becoming apparent the more he stared.

And then, he slowly, hesitantly, turned his head to the right and took in the immobile form beside him.

Jesse was limp and lifeless, slumped down in his seat. Hanzo saw his own arm reach out and fumble to find Jesse’s arm. His numb fingertips were met by the cold metal of Jesse’s left forearm.

Hanzo was dimly aware of a light glittering off some dark liquid along Jesse’s hairline. As the yellow lights drew closer, refracting from the shattered glass spread like a halo around the two of them, Hanzo’s vision began to darken. The only thing he could think, was to curl his hand into the fabric of Jesse’s sleeve and to hang on for dear life.

* * *

 

The sound was the first thing that came to him. A steady beeping that he’d heard all too often at the base. If he listened closely enough, Jesse was sure he could pinpoint the little leap in the line.

Next, came the light. The harsh, white light of sterility was too much at first, but Jesse was honestly just glad to be seeing anything at all. Gradually, he opened his eyes wider and wider, until he could stare at the wall opposite him without squinting.

There was a heavy weight on his right arm, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look down just yet. He wiggled his fingers experimentally. All of the digits on his right were present and accounted for. He had some trouble with the ones on his left, but that was a small matter. He'd lost them all before, he could deal with it again.

Jesse steeled himself with a deep breath. He raised his head slightly to clear the shape of his blanket-covered body, and looked down at him right arm. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. The weight appeared to be a normal plaster cast over his forearm, bound in red gauze. He wiggled his fingers again, taking a small amount of joy from seeing his hand respond properly.

Turning his head to the left, Jesse saw why he’d had trouble with his prosthetic. The metal appendage was in a few more pieces than it should rightly be, the inner wiring exposed and a few parts laid carefully aside. Judging by the neat row of tools by his bedside, his arm was still in the middle of being repaired. Jesse leant back, more relaxed now, knowing that he was relatively alright.

 

A rustle of cloth near his head made Jesse turn again to his right. Adjusting himself in the chair beside Jesse’s bed, was Hanzo, eyes closed in fitful slumber. He too wore the pristine whites of the hospital clothing, and Jesse felt a jolt go through him as he looked Hanzo over for visible injuries.

As if he knew he was being observed, Hanzo stirred and blearily opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, also adjusting to the light, before realising that Jesse was awake.

“Jesse!” he breathed, leaning forward to be closer to the edge of the bed. His hand reached out automatically, hovering over Jesse’s arm, before settling for the sheets beside him. “It's good to see you awake. Your head…”

“It’ll take more than a tree to keep me down.” Jesse croaked, his throat suddenly dry. Hanzo hurried to pour some water from the jug on the table into a cup. He helped Jesse take a healthy gulp before setting it back down.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence after that, neither of them knowing or quite wanting to address the situation.

“...Are you hurt?” Jesse asked after a short while, to ease his mind as much as break the silence.

Hanzo shook his head behind his hand. “Not as bad as you.”

“How bad.”

Hanzo sighed. “Some bad bruising on my thighs. The dashboard collapsed on top of me. Dislocated my knee. One of the pedals went into my leg, left a pretty big wound.”

“Are you alright?” Jesse asked, knowing full well that even if he wasn't, Hanzo wouldn't tell him.

“Yes.” came the reply. “Angela fixed me up.”

Jesse nodded, then dropped his head back against the pillow.

The silence came creeping back into the room, undeterred by the brief conversation.

The minutes ticked by. Hanzo fiddled with the tie on his robe. Jesse fought down an itch on his nose.

 

“I owe you an explanation.” Hanzo said after a long while. Jesse went to protest, but Hanzo shot him down before he could say anything. “I had a lot of time to think about it. You deserve to know everything, and it's not fair of me to keep it from you.”

Jesse watched him curiously, but didn't move to interrupt again.

Hanzo took a deep breath, staring at his hands. “When I broke up with you, I thought that I was protecting you.”

“ _Protect_ me?” Jesse repeated in disbelief, sitting up as best he could without moving his arms. Of all the things he’d expected, that was not one of them. He couldn't stop the scathing remark that followed even if he'd wanted to. “That’s a funny definition of protect you’ve got there.”

“Jesse-”

“You know,” Jesse continued, ignoring Hanzo, talking as much to the opposite wall as he was to the other man. “I always thought that when you cause such crippling pain to a person that they can’t move for _days_ , then you were someone they needed to be protected _from_. But sure, you’re right as always.”

“I never meant to hurt you.” Hanzo said firmly. “I was just thinking about the long term.”

Jesse paused, turning back to Hanzo in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Hanzo sighed, preparing himself to reenter the emotional headspace of the Hanzo who’d made this decision, and not the new, numb model who’d taken his place.

“We aren’t exactly in the safest line of work,” he explained slowly, as much to himself as Jesse. He was half trying to convince himself that this was still the right decision. Jesse was making a very strong case against it. “And, I thought that if we weren’t… as _close_ as we are now, then it would be better for you when something… happened to me.”

A sniff made his eyes shoot up to look at Jesse.

“You idiot,” Jesse shook his head at the ceiling. “You stupid, sweet idiot.”

“Jesse…”

“Do you think I didn’t consider this?” Jesse asked. “Do you think that _I_ didn’t think about the future and what might happen?”

Hanzo could feel himself welling up as well but didn’t try to fight it.

“I _know_ this is dangerous,” Jesse continued. “I know we could get hurt and I know it'd destroy me if anything happened to you.”

“Then why,” Hanzo’s voice wobbled as the first drop of salty liquid was absorbed by his beard. “Why would you do this knowing how much it's going to hurt.”

Jesse turned his head against the pillow, looking directly into Hanzo’s eyes.

“Because,” he said. “Everything that happens between now and whenever that will be, is worth all of that pain and then some.”

Hanzo had shuffled closer, sitting on the edge of his seat to lean on the railing of Jesse’s bed. He still bridged the gap between wanting to touch Jesse, and hesitating because he didn't know if he could.

Jesse wanted to reach out and make the first move, but he was at a disadvantage in terms of mobility. He settled for tilting his head towards Hanzo’s, getting as close as he could. Hanzo took the hint, leaning his forehead against Jesse’s, careful to avoid the gauzed area. They stayed there for a long moment, Hanzo’s hand creeping up to cup Jesse’s face.

“Besides,” Jesse mumbled. “I don't think anything could hurt more than these past weeks.”

Hanzo hiccuped a little, burying his face in Jesse’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you feel like this.”

Jesse leant his cheek against Hanzo’s hair. “I'm not going to say it's okay. Because it's not, exactly.” He felt Hanzo nod into his collar.

He sighed. “I just wish you’d have talked to me about this.”

“I'm still working on that.” Hanzo whispered.

Jesse nodded, even though Hanzo couldn't see him. “I know you are. I hope this is a warning to you.”

Hanzo hic-laughed, nodding again.

They stayed like that for a couple more minutes, wrapped up in each other and starting to heal some of the wounds of the last six weeks.

 

The door slid open, and someone cleared their throat delicately. The two men looked over, reluctant to let go of each other.

Angela walked over to the chair on the left of Jesse’s bed. “As glad as I am that you two are talking again, the doctor needs to see to her patient.”

Hanzo untangled himself from Jesse, pushing himself back onto the chair with a groan.

Angela shot him a look from over her row of tools.

“You can stay there.” she commanded. “You moved more than you were supposed to already.”

Hanzo had the decency to look sheepish, but he couldn't exactly say he regretted it. He slipped his hand under Jesse’s cast-laden fingers, content to wait until Angela had worked her magic. Jesse pinched his hand softly, not wanting to move too much just yet.

Angela looked up at them with a small smile before turning her attention to the mass of wires and metal that lay before her.

Things might finally be straightening out around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this one.


End file.
